


Let Your Hearts Be Light

by avislightwing



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/F, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, M/M, basically any kind of fluff you can think of, here it is in one fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 08:57:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11272182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avislightwing/pseuds/avislightwing
Summary: In which the whole squad gets together in the cabin to celebrate Yuletide. Food, family, gift-giving, cookies, snuggles. The whole shebang.(And yes, I'm posting a Christmas fic in June. Don't judge me.)





	Let Your Hearts Be Light

“Feyre!” Rhys hollered from the doorway. “Our brothers-in-law are here!”

“Brothers-in-law? Wouldn’t it be brother-in-laws?” Cassian wondered to himself, shouldering past Rhys, almost knocking him over with a casual sweep of his wings.

“Oh, sure, leave your husband outside in the snow because you’re worried about _semantics_ ,” Lucien complained, following after him and grumpily shaking his hair free of ice crystals.

“You know you love me.” Cassian hooked an arm around Lucien’s neck and pulled him into the room, kissing the top of his head.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up, you’re getting your ego all over the cabin’s nice clean floor.”

Feyre rushed into the room, beaming. She was covered in flour from head to toe and was wearing a bright red sweater. One of the sweater’s sleeves was shorter than the other, and the hem seemed to be unraveling. “Glad you could make it! We missed you last year when you were in the Autumn Court for the Yuletide celebrations.”

Lucien’s expression softened. “We missed you too, but Ma really needed the company. She misses them around the holidays, and nothing we can do changes that. Doesn’t matter they were bastards. She even misses Eris – keeps going on about a sweater she once made him… I think she’s getting senile in her old age.”

“Speaking of sweaters, what the hell is that?” Cassian asked, plucking at the uneven sleeve of Feyre’s knitted garment.

“It was a gift,” Feyre said, her voice dignified.

Cassian grinned. “All right, has to be Elain. There’s no way Nesta would have the patience to make something like that.”

“Actually, that would be my doing.” Rhys ran a hand through his hair and posed. “Here you see the lovely High Lady of the Night Court, Feyre Archeron, modeling this Yuletide season’s latest fashion in –”

“– in shapeless mounds of yarn?” Feyre teased. “To be fair, this is the best result so far. Even the Suriel would reject the scarf he made.”

“You’re just jealous,” Rhys said, pouting.

Elain emerged from the kitchen, pink-cheeked and covered with flour as well. “Feyre! You abandoned me in the middle of cookie-baking!” she exclaimed.

“Sorry, Elain. Isn’t Az helping, though?”

Elain went a bit pinker. “Not with the cookies!”

“I object to that assessment.” Az was somehow free of flour, though his wings were very carefully folded to his back. He looked more than a bit absurd with holly and mistletoe tied around his head, tangled in his hair – not to mention the fluffy, light pink sweater he was wearing. The overall effect made him look like a poisonous bunny rabbit:  terrifying, yet adorable. “I am helping with the cookies. I’m tasting them to make sure Elain hasn’t poisoned us.”

“First of all, I thought that was Mor’s job, and second, as long as neither Nesta nor Amren has been in the kitchen, I doubt we have anything to worry about,” Feyre said with a laugh.

“Has someone been _eating_ my _cookies?_ ” Mor stormed into the room, her hair distinctly mussed.

“Morrigan!” She was immediately enveloped in a giant bear hug courtesy of Cassian – both arms and both wings. “Cauldron, I’ve missed you!”

She shoved at him good-naturedly. “Oh, get off, you overgrown child. Hi, Lucien.” The other Fae smiled and waved at her. “You been keeping him in line?”

“If by that you mean making sure he doesn’t destroy any more cities, then –”

“Nesta!” Cassian yelled happily, greeting the Night Court archivist with the same full-body hug he bestowed on Mor. “How’s the research going?”

“It would be going better if _someone_ didn’t keep insisting that I need to go out and _do_ things,” Nesta grumbled, extricating herself from Cassian’s arms.

“Admit it – you enjoyed yourself the last time we went to Rita’s,” Mor said cheerfully.

“I spent the whole time working on that inventory for Tarquin,” her wife pointed out, “and you spent the whole time drinking tequila and flirting with the waitress to try to make me jealous.”

“Which worked, didn’t it?” Mor said slyly.

Nesta went very red. “ _So_. Lucien, how goes the Autumn Court?” she asked, her voice unusually loud, covering up Cassian’s gleeful “it _did?_ ”

“Oh, the Autumn Court is fine,” Lucien said. He led the way into the living room and curled up on a chair like a large, ginger cat. Nesta followed, grabbing one of the appetizers put together by Elain the previous day – more whipped cream than substance. “Same as always, really. I’m constantly impressed with Ma for running it for so long with no help; I barely get by with Cassian’s, some days.”

Cassian followed the two into the room, flopping down on the carpet next to Lucien’s chair. “Once Beron was gone, she managed to get a lot of laws changed,” Lucien continued, absently running his fingers through his husband’s hair. “Reinstituted the old traditions – the bonfires, the festivals… evidently, before his rule, the lesser faeries – especially the asparas and korred – had important parts to play in court functioning as well as cultural rites. You should visit, Nesta – you’d find it fascinating.”

“I’m sure I would,” Nesta agreed. “The more I learn about Prythian’s history, the more I suspect that the current High Lords –” here she glared at Rhys, who shrugged innocently “– are the most responsible for the so-called traditional structure with ‘lesser faeries’ and ‘no High Ladies’ and –”

“Have a cream puff,” Mor interrupted, sticking one of the treats into Nesta’s mouth. “I love you, and you know I agree with you, but it’s Yuletide, for Mother’s sake. Not the time to discuss how terrible things are. Or were.”

Nesta subsided, though reluctantly. “He was the one who brought it up,” she said with her mouth full of pastry, pointing accusatorily at Lucien.

“Who wants food?” Elain popped out of the kitchen again, followed by Azriel, both of them bearing platters of meat, vegetables, and flatbread.

“Where’s Amren?” Feyre asked, helping Rhys uncork the wine. “Didn’t she say she’d be here?”

“I believe she said, ‘I expect to be well-compensated for my socialization efforts,’” Rhys said, pouring himself a generous measure of the wine and joining the others as they sat around the table. “I hope you all brought her presents.”

“Well, she’s not going to get them if she doesn’t show up before dessert,” Feyre grumbled.

“I was getting a snack.”

Rhys jumped and swore loudly, the wine he just poured himself slopping against the sides of the glass. “Don’t _do_ that, Amren.”

She smiled at him, silver eyes amused. “You’d think one of these years you’d learn,” she said, seating herself between Elain and Cassian.

“Amren!” Feyre grinned. “I’m glad you decided to show up.”

“She likes it when we’re all here together,” Rhys confided to the table in a whisper. “One big, happy family and all that. A few weeks ago, I got in a fight with Azriel and she dragged me back to the House of Wind by my ear to apologize.”

Feyre crossed her arms. “Just because you were too arrogant to admit you were wrong –”

Rhys cut her off with a laugh. “Teasing, Feyre darling.”

“You _were_ wrong, though,” Azriel murmured, his shadows curling gently around Elain, tugging on the ribbon tying up her hair.

“No arguments tonight!” Cassian proclaimed. “Just food and gift-giving.” He suddenly froze, his face caught in an almost-comic expression of terror. “Lu –”

Lucien gave a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, I brought the presents,” he said. “Or rather, I had Feyre pick them up a few days ago because I knew you’d forget them.”

“Your lack of faith saddens me,” Cassian said with a sigh.

“Even though you _did_ forget them?”

“I might not have,” Cassian retorted. “I remembered to get everyone a present, didn’t I?”

“Except for me,” Lucien grumbled.

Cassian glanced at him, eyes flashing with mischief. “Are you sure about that?”

“Of – but – it wasn’t with all the others!”

“Of course it wasn’t. I don’t want you opening it in front of our family. If you know what I mean.”

Lucien went rather red, opened his mouth, closed it again, and busied himself piling food onto his plate, trying (and failing) to conceal the smile that spread across his face.

“Gods, _must_ you?” Amren complained, taking a hearty swig from a hip flask. “Two males are twice as worse as one, apparently.”

Cassian stuck his tongue out at her. “You’re just jealous, Tiny Ancient One.”

“Of what?” she scoffed.

“Don’t answer that,” Lucien interrupted, putting a hand over his husband’s mouth. A second later, he yanked his hand back with a yelp. “Mother’s tits, Cass,” he said with a scowl, using Cassian’s favorite phrase and wiping his hand on his tunic. “Save it for the bedroom.”

“Did he just _lick_ your _hand?_ ” Rhys said in mild horror.

Feyre gave him a look. “You’re one to talk. Remember when you –”

“Feyre, if you finish that sentence, I will have Mor and Nesta hold you down so I can sew your mouth closed,” Amren threatened.

Feyre clamped her mouth shut and mimed buttoning it.

“I would, too,” Mor added. “I have absolutely no desire to hear about my cousin’s sexual misdemeanors. I have plenty of my own.”

“Don’t think that threat doesn’t go for you as well,” Amren said, turning a dangerously black-painted finger in Mor’s direction.

“I like your polish, Amren,” Elain burst in innocently.

“What?” Amren studied her hand, completely sidetracked. “Oh, that. Yes, well, this was the only color I would wear, and Helion insisted that painting nails was a vital aspect of – erm – sleepovers.”

“What color did he paint his?” Feyre asked, passing a basket of bread around the table.

“Yellow,” Amren said. “Varian painted his yellow too. And Thesan chose a nice pink.”

Rhys shook his head in mock wonder. “Who would’ve thought all it would take to bond two High Lords, a general, and a firedrake would be nail polish? Ouch, Feyre darling, quit it,” he added as his wife poked him in the ribs.

Meanwhile, Azriel was looking at Elain’s almost-empty plate with concern. “Aren’t you going to eat any more than that?”

She was almost bouncing up and down in her chair in her excitement. “I’m too excited about presents to eat much,” she confessed to him. “Besides, there’ll be cookies afterwards!”

“How many cookies have you already eaten?” Azriel asked, suspicious.

“Maybe two or twelve,” Elain said, blushing. “You ate at least that many!”

“Well, I have two stomachs,” Azriel responded, not skipping a beat. Then he smiled at Elain’s shocked face. “Will you ever stop falling for that?”

She planted a quick, fluttering kiss on his cheek. “Probably not.”

 The next few hours were pleasantly occupied by eating so much that everyone could barely keep their eyes open, ripping paper off various presents (of which the most notable were the pink sweater Azriel made for Elain so they could match – pronounced “disgustingly cute” by Rhys; the king’s ransom in jewels lavished upon Amren; and the intricate music box Lucien gifted Cassian, crafted by his friend in the Dawn Court, music written himself), and lying in various states of contentment as they watched the Yule fire burn to embers.

“We should do this more often,” Feyre said sleepily, as Rhys dozed off with his head in her lap.

“Mmhmm.” Nesta and Mor had somehow managed to fit themselves simultaneously into an armchair before the fire, and didn’t seem to be paying attention to what anyone else was doing. Nesta was trying, but it was hard with Mor nuzzling her neck like a friendly cat. “It’s – oh, stop – I’ll admit, one of the better holidays I’ve had.”

“So you’ve finally warmed up to these ‘strange Fae traditions’?” Elain teased her lightly, quoting something Nesta had said quite a number of years before. Elain was also stroking Azriel’s wings lightly, pretending to innocently not notice how he was trying not to squirm, and how he was clutching a pillow in his lap.

“Maybe,” Nesta said grudgingly.

“Knew you would,” Cassian said. He was taking up most of the floor, flopped on the rug and warming his wings in front of the fire with Lucien curled up and snoring against his chest. For a High Lord, Lucien looked decidedly harmless-looking, especially asleep. “Looks like we won’t be moving for a while. You all can divide up the rooms.”

Azriel stood up abruptly. “Elain and I will take the one in the back.”

She giggled and stood. “Good idea, Az. Night.” She gave the rest of them a little wave before being tugged down the hallway by her rather agitated husband.

Feyre yawned. “Rhys, we should probably get to bed as well.”

He grumbled, but headed off down the hallway as well, and Mor and Nesta took the last bedroom.

And as the snow fell in large flakes outside the cabin’s windows, no longer icy and sharp but soft and cozy, and the fire died to a few faintly glowing embers, a sense of safety and peace settled over the cabin full of couples and friends and one firedrake who’d curled up, unnoticed, on a pile of cushions under the table to sort through her newly-acquired hoard and doze without having to deal with anyone else who might want to chat.

It was, indeed, one of the best holidays any of them had ever had. And definitely the best Yuletide.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also found on tumblr as birdiethebibliophile!


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